


Got Your Number

by DrowningInFandoms



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3410237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInFandoms/pseuds/DrowningInFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If your favourite actor gave out his number on social media, would you be able to take the chance and try it out? (A Tom Hiddleston x Reader fanfiction.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Send, or Not to Send?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that two friends and I gave birth to in a Hiddlestoner discussion forum on Wattpad, where it was originally posted. The main focus is what would happen if Tom Hiddleston gave out his mobile number, like Misha Collins did on Twitter. The concept was too good NOT to write about!
> 
> I mean, yeah, he'd never do this. But a girl can dream, right? Right.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything that sounds remotely familiar in this story. Places, people, and names of books/shows/movies are used simply to tell the story.

_bzzzzt...._

That's your mobile ringing.

_bzzzzzzt......._

Are you going to get that? It may be important, you tell yourself.

_bzzzzzzzzzt....._

With a frustrated sigh, you reach into your pocket and pull out your buzzing mobile. It's only a bloody tweet. Since you made the effort to get the damn thing out, you decide that you might as well take a look at it. You unlock your screen and press the little blue icon.

 **Tom Hiddleston** (@twhiddleston)

I'm going to regret this, eventually... (XXX) XXX-XXXX

You stare at it, reading and re-reading until your eyes water. What just happened? You shake your head, as if doing so will clear your mind; but you're not an Etch-a-Sketch. That can't _really_ be his telephone number, can it? If so, you joke to yourself, that man is off his head. His mobile will **never** stop ringing! That aside, it's probably not real.

You jot down the number anyway.

__

It's been a week now, and people still can't stop talking about Tom Hiddleston giving his mobile number out on Twitter. Turns out it really  _is_ the real thing - some people have actually gotten through! You, however, being the skeptic you are, haven't made a single attempt.

Ever since the number was verified, you've had to restrain yourself from making the call. I mean, what would you say? You can't just ring him and ask him for a shag, that'd get you a nice restraining order. You probably would be too star struck to say anything at all! You'd just sit there and hyperventilate into the phone; or worse, start crying out of anxiety. Better not to humiliate yourself, you think.

Despite all the things you tell yourself in order to keep from calling the number, you still have this nagging urge to give it a shot. You tell your best mate about this, and she suggests a text. You have to admit, it  _does_ sound less intimidating.

When you finally give up and decide to do it, you're lying in bed at two in the morning. This internal argument is keeping you awake and it needs to stop. One little text won't end the world, right? With a confirming nod of your head, you reach over and take your mobile from your nightstand.

 **To:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Are you regretting it yet?

Your thumb hovers over the **SEND** button for a moment.

"I'm going to regret this," you mutter to yourself. Holding your breath, you press.

_-Message Sent-_

There. You exhale and set your phone back down. Rolling over, you shut your eyes, a satisfied smile on your face. _Now_ you can sleep in peace.

 

 


	2. A Reply and an Accident

**  
** _bzzzt..._

You're just barely awake when your mobile goes off.

_bzzzzzt...._

It can't be... 

_bzzzzzzt....._

You open your eyes wide in utter disbelief. You pick up your phone and look at the sreen.

**1 New Message - (XXX) XXX-XXXX**

It  _is._ Your heart jumps into your throat and you shakily press  **VIEW MESSAGE**.

 **From:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

I'm starting to! Luckily, they're starting to calm down now. Still may have to get a new number!

You read the text and smile. You can't believe that he responded! This has got to be the single best thing that has happened to you, _**EVER.**  _Giggling a little, you type out a reply.

 **To:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Well, you DID put your personal number on the internet... :)

 

 **From:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Not my best idea, was it?

 

 **To:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Definitely not. I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sure it gets irritating.

 

 **From:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Bless you for being so concerned! Actually, I find it quite flattering.

You feel the heat rising in your face as you read his compliment. He really  _is_ as nice as people say! Before you can reply, you receive another text.

 **From:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Do you mind if I ask who I'm talking to?

He wants to know your name. **HE** , as in **TOM %$^ &ING HIDDLESTON**, wants to know **YOUR** name! Rolling over, you bury your face in your pillow and make an almost inhuman noise. What is happening right now?? Regaining your composure, you quickly put in your name, making sure you spell it right before sending it on its way.

 **From:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Nice to meet you!

 

 **To:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Likewise. Do you mind if we talk again later? It's almost three a.m. here.

You hate to end the conversation, but you can barely keep your eyes open. You're pretty sure that he will understand.

 **From:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Not at all! You should sleep. Feel free to call/text, I'll try my best to get back to you.

 

 **To:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Thank you! Good night, Tom!

 

 **From:** (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Good night. Hope you sleep well.

__

If the messages were not still in your inbox, you would write your late-night conversation off as a dream. You check throughout the day, just to be sure, and there they are. Seven messages, all from Tom himself. You eventually go ahead and program his mobile number into your contacts - after all, he _did_ say you could talk to him whenever...

The next time you see her, you tell your friend about what occurred. At first, she refuses to believe you and demands proof. You show her the messages, and after having an absolute fit she accepts it. When you leave her, she bombards you with texts.

 **From:** Talia

How are you still alive! I would have a bloody heart attack! Can you tell him Hello from me??? :O

 

 **To:** Talia

No idea. I must have Jack Harkness Syndrome or something.

 

 **From:** Talia

LOL Jack Syndrome! So spill - what's it like, talking to him?

 

 **To:** Talia

AMAZING, of course, what kind of question is that.

 

 **From:** Talia

I NEED DETAILS, YOU TWAT!

 

 **To:** Tom

Talia, calm down before you hurt yourself! He's suprisingly normal, really.. makes you forget you're talking to someone famous.

You wait for a reply for an awfully long time. Funny, it isn't like her to leave you hanging like this...  When you finally do get a text message, it isn't from Talia. It's from Tom. Stunned that he's talking to you just out of the blue, you press  **VIEW MESSAGE**.

 **From:** Tom

I'm awfully flattered, love, but since my name isn't Talia, I'm going to assume you meant that to go to someone else.

"FUCK, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...." you mutter, looking back through your sent file. When you realize your mistake, you wish nothing more than for the floor to open up and swllow you whole. What did you just DO??? You're so embarrassed you could cry.

 **To:** Tom

I am SO sorry! My best mate, her number is right next to yours in my mobile.

You scream in frustration, frightening your cat. 

 **From:** Tom

Don't be embarrassed. It happens to everyone at least once.

 

 **To:** Tom

Yes, but when it's me, of course it happens when I'm talking to my favourite actor... Oh, and, she says to tell you hi for her, so "Hi!"

 

 **From:** Tom

Well, thank you! It's quite nice to know that someone considers me their favourite. Tell Talia I said hello!

He even remembered her name! You quickly forward the message to her. She is going to go absolutely mad!

She does. Later, she rings you and screams in your ear for about an hour. You lie back and listen, but your mind is miles away. What is Tom Hiddleston doing talking to a silly little fangirl, anyway? And why  _you?_  You're nothing special...


	3. Let's Play Q&A

_bzzzzzzzzzt...._

You're on your break at work at the moment, which is when you like to go into the back and sift through the new books that haven't hit shelves yet. As you settle down with a particularly interesting-looking one, your mobile goes off. You pull the buzzy thing out of the pocket on your hoodie and take a look.

**From:** Tom

Hello, love, how are you today?

You smile. A message from him still doesn't fail to make your stomach flip, even though it's been weeks. You drop the book (yeah, it looks good, but this kind of takes priority over books..) and reply.

**  
****To:** Tom

I'm quite all right, thanks! Just going on break, actually, you have the best timing.

 

**From:** Tom

Oh, you're working? Where do you work?

You still don't know why the hell he bothers, so you're reluctant to answer his question. Then you think, what if he shows up here? Christ on rice, you'd probably die right then and there, and if not Talia would kill you! You shrug and start to type.

 

  **To:** Tom

Blackwell's on Charing Cross. It's a little bookshop. I work here part-time while I'm going to university.

 

**From:** Tom

I don't think I've ever been there. I guess I have a reason to now, don't I? What do you study?

What if he shows up here? You take a minute to imagine Tom walking in and asking for you. You'd die, Talia would die, the person he asked for you would probably die... so much fangirl death... You break is almost over, so you reply and head back up to the front.

  **To:** Tom

Nothing specific. I'm not ready to choose what I do all my life quite yet.

 

**From:** Tom

Taking your time isn't a bad thing. I hope you don't mind all the questions. We've talked for months, and I know nothing about you. I figured I'd learn something today.

 

  **To:** Tom

Not at all! Ask away.

You take a moment to find a copy of  _Trainspotting_ for a customer. While you search, you wonder why Tom wants to get to know you at all. Why is he still speaking to you? It's not like he has nothing better to do. Why is a talented, successful, devastatingly handsome actor getting chummy with a plain girl who works at a bookshp and lives alone? It doesn't add up. Of all the people who contacted him and all the gorgeous people that he works with, what is Tom wasting his time on  _you_ for?

  **From:** Tom

Excellent. What about in your free time?

 

  **To:** Tom

I don't go out a lot. It's not that I never do, I'd just rather be at home with a book or something than go to a club.

You instantly regret telling him you don't get out much. Good job, genius, you made yourself sound geeky and introverted.

  **From:** Tom

That isn't a bad thing. You're just mature for your age.

 

  **To:** Tom

Why, thank you! I never thought of it that way!

 

  **From:** Tom

You're welcome, dear. So, you read, and what else do you enjoy doing?

You're feeling more comfortable answering his questions. I'ts a good thing that it's a slow day!

  **To:** Tom

Well, I love writing. I write a lot of short stories, and I dabble in poetry. I also love music - I'm trying to learn the piano, but I'm crap at it still. I watch Doctor Who almost religiously. (A total geek, I know.)

 

  **From:** Tom

I bet you're a brilliant writer. I would love to read something of yours someday. Don't feel bad about being terrible at piano. It's quite difficult, but I'm sure you'll get it!

 

  **To:** Tom

Oh, you stop it, you're making me blush! I'd be much too nervous to let you read my writing.

You aren't joking. Your face is bright red. He's so sweet! You don't want him to read any of your stuff though. It's amateur at best.

  **From:** Tom

Oh, come on! I'm sure it's great. So since you work in London, do you live there, too?

Now he wants to know where you live? Your stomach does multiple flips, and you grin widely. You've told him this much, so you might as well tell him this, too.

 

  **To:** Tom

I do. I'm a Londoner, born and bred. My mum and dad met here, and they never left. They're actually both Irish.

 

  **From:** Tom

Do you have any siblings?

 

When you get this message and pick up your mobile to read it, you notice the time. Your shift ended ten minutes ago! You're going to have to hurry if you want to catch the tube. You answer him quickly and leave Blackwell's, rushing to the nearest station.

  **To:** Tom

None. I'm the spoiled rotten only child! (Not really spoiled, but being the only kid in the family had its perks.)

You arrive just in time, and luckily find an empty seat. You thank God that you aren't seated by anyone  _too_ strange. It's a long ride, and you don't want to spend it stuck to the one-eyed woman that rides every day at this time. She smells like boiled cabbage.

  **From:** Tom

I bet it did. You mentioned living in a flat once before. Is it just you there?

 

  **To:** Tom

Yes. Well, if you don't count my cat, that is.

 

  **From:** Tom

I had a feeling you were a cat person. How long have you had him/her?

You smile as you recall going to the animal rescue and getting your cat. You love telling people about him as much as parents do with their children.

  **To:** Tom

I got him from the local rescue shortly after moving in, so my best guess is a little over four years. He wasn't the best looking cat, but he was rail thin and missing a leg, and I couldn't stop myself.

 

  **From:** Tom

That was awfully kind of you. He's very lucky. What's he called?

 

  **To:** Tom

His name is Rory. He's a sphynx, a hairless. Very high maintenance and quite strange, but he's mine and I love him to pieces. And he's a great cat - very sweet, loves people, well behaved...

 

  **From:** Tom

Very interesting. Never met a hairless cat before. With a missing leg, does he have trouble getting around?

 

  **To:** Tom

Surprisingly, he doesn't. He walks just fine, and you can hardly tell he's missing a leg when he runs. Has some trouble with jumping on and off high places, though.

The tube arrives at your stop, and you get off and walk to your flat. You unlock your door, and you are  _finally_ home. Rory is there to greet you. You set your bag and your mobile on the kitchen counter and take off your jacket, the cat meowing at rubbing against your legs. Scooping him up, you give him a good scratching behind the ear, making him purr loudly.

"Someone missed me today," you remark, picking up your mobile when you hear it.

  **From:** Tom

"Rory" is a character on Doctor Who, right?

You can't believe Tom knows that! He actually watches Doctor Who? That's news to you, but you love it! You set Rory down on the counter, and he gives you a look. He seems like he's saying, "What the hell did you put me here for? I can't get down!"

   **To:** Tom

It is! I'm very impressed!

 

  **From:** Tom

Don't be too impressed, I just heard it on the telly. I've only seen the show a handful of times.

 

   **To:** Tom

I'm still impressed. I named after my favourite companion. He died and came back multiple times, and when I got my Rory that's what I thought of.

 

  **From:** Tom

They both have amazing luck. All right, one last question. I've probably asked far too many. Anyway - Are you seeing someone right now?

When you read that, you almost drop your mobile. He wants to know **_WHAT_**? Of course, he's just getting to know you. You assure yourself that there is no other reason behind it. Besides, you're so far out of his league, you need a telescope to see it! There is no fucking way Tom Hiddleston is interested in you in that way!

**To:** Tom

Unfortunately, I'm single. I have been for a while now.

 

  **From:** Tom

Don't feel down about it. You're a great girl, someone will snatch you up. Now that I'm done pestering you, do you have any questions for me?

This is your opportunity to ask him the question you have been asking yourself for almost a month.

**To:** Tom

Yes, I have just one. What made you decide to talk to me? Hundreds of people contacted you when you put your number out. Thousands, even. Why is it that you chose to talk to me, and why do you still do it?

Once that is off your chest, you go to shower and change into something comfortable. When you're finished, you settle down on the sofa. His reply is waiting for you.

  **From:** Tom

At first I replied to be polite. Yes, I did speak to many people, but none were as interesting or had as much to say as you. I enjoy our conversations, love. You are a wonderful young woman. Why do I talk to an average university student with a part-time job and an odd cat? Because I want to.

_Friends_. You like the sound of that.


	4. Meddling Mothers

You are in the area running errands, so you decide to pop in on your parents. You let yourself in, and find your mum in the kitchen, washing dishes - no sign of Dad, but he's probably working. She dries her hands off and comes around the island to hug you.

"How have you been, poppet?" she asks. "You look thin.."

Rolling your eyes, you sit and prepare to be fed. Mum always says that. As she sets a plate of last night's leftovers in front of you, your mobile starts to buzz loudly on the table. You both glance down at it.

**From:** Tom

Hello, darling, what are you up to today?

You can't help but grin like an idiot. You always do when he talks to you.

**To:** Tom

Hi, Tom! I'm visiting with my mum right now.

"Who's Tom?" Mum asks.

You sigh and dismiss the question with a wave, telling her, "A friend of mine."

You look up, and you can tell by the look on her face that she isn't buying it. She gives you a look. "What's that goofy look on your face, then? That isn't a 'friend' look."

**From:** Tom

I'm not interrupting, am I?

 

**To:** Tom

No, but I think Mum thinks you and I have some kind of 'thing", which makes things awkward...

As if on cue, your mum chimes in again. "So, tell me, how long have you two been seeing each other?"

You glare at her, and repeat what you said earlier. "Tom's a friend, mum. Nothing else. Just a friend."

She laughs. 

**From:** Tom

Why is it awkward? You aren't embarrassed, are you, love?

Your face goes bright red. Brilliant, you think to yourself. Thanks a bunch, Tom. Your mum is still giggling away. 

"Look at you!" she remarks, pointing. "'Just a friend' my foot! You can't keep things from me, young lady!"

When she calms down, Mum starts the interrogation. "What's he like, your Tom? Is he good looking?"

"MUM!" you gasp in disbelief, either at the fact that she has the gall to ask or the fact that she honestly has to ask if  _Tom Hiddleston_ is good looking.

**To:** Tom

She just asked me if you were attractive, so yes. It's painfully embarrassing.

 

**From:** Tom

That's actually a very good question...

You make a frustrated noise, which your mum thinks is meant for her. "Fine, then," she huffs. "If you're going to be like that.. we'd better get to meet him, though!"

You ignore that, because you are 100% done with this subject. You tell her you'll visit again soon and that you have to go before she can bring it up again. You just barely catch the tube back to your flat.

**To:** Tom

Ha, ha, very funny. I hope you know she's not going to drop the boyfriend thing now.. she wants me to bring you around so you can meet her and Dad!

 

**From:** Tom

Well, that escalated quickly... by the way, you never answered the question.

"What question?" you ask yourself aloud. And then you remember - he means Mum's question. Is he  _really_ asking if you think he's attractive? Is water wet? You ask him, just to be sure.

**From:** Tom

That's the one! Come on, darling, don't be shy..

That complete and utter bastard. Is he  _trying_ to kill you?

 

**To:** Tom

Of course I do. You're gorgeous. 

 

**From:** Tom

You really think so?

Oh, come on. This is ridiculous.

**To:** Tom

Would I lie to you? 

 

**From:** Tom

I guess not. 

 


	5. Not-So-Rude Awakening

You wake up with a start when you hear your mobile go off. Why in the  _hell_ did you make the whistling from Kill Bill your ringtone? You reach for it and grab your alarm clock instead, and you notice the time. It's four in the fucking morning! Who is texting you _now?_

**From:** Tom

Hey, what are you doing?

Well that's the  _last_ person you expected. You figured one of your mates drunk-texted you or something equally stupid. Confused and still quite put out at being awakened, you sit up in bed.

**To:** Tom

Sleeping! It's 4:00 in the morning, Tom!

 

**From:** Tom

Oh, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot about time zones. Goodnight, darling.

He must be out of the country! That makes sense. You lie back down, and soon fall asleep again. When you wake up, there's another message waiting for you.

**From:** Tom

Sorry again for the rude awakening! 

He's apologizing again? How adorably unneccessary! He's always so polite - is he even  _human_?

**To:** Tom

I'll forgive you this time. You were in a different time zone, so I doubt it was on purpose.

 

**From:** Tom

Of course not. It was only nine where I was. I'm back in London now, though.

 

**To:** Tom

That's good. What made you ask what I was doing out of the blue, anyway?

 

**From:** Tom

Someone asked me last night if I met anyone interesting when I gave out my number. I thought of you instantly. Don't worry, though, I didn't use your name.

Oh, thank God. You really didn't want the attention that would surely come with being associated with Tom Hiddleston. If he had gave your name, your privacy would be a thing of the past. Your name would be in every gossip magazine from here to the Moon! If you couldn't even handle your best mate knowing, you don't even want to  _think_ about how you'd feel then.

**To:** Tom

Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate that!

 

**From:** Tom

Oh, I'd never throw you to the wolves like that, love! I simply told them yes. I really did instantly think of you, though. Well, then, now that you're fully awake, what are you doing?

 

**To:** Tom

Being lazy! I haven't left my bed. Good thing it's my day off!

 

**From:** Tom

Considering you were awake so early before, I don't blame you.

Now that you think about it, you should probably get up and do something. You pull the covers off of you, and instantly throw them back on. It's so cold! Why is it cold in here?

**To:** Tom

It's also freezing in my flat. I'm staying here where it's warm!

 

**From:** Tom

It's awfully cold outside as well. You may want to turn your heat up, I think it's supposed to stay this way for a week or two.

Aww! You aren't sure if Tom is just this kind all the time or if for some reason you're special, but you love when he says these kinds of things. It isn't even because it's him saying it; no one has  _ever_ been this caring towards you right from the start, aside from your parents, of course.

**To:** Tom

Are you like this to everyone, or am I just special?

 

**From:** Tom

Am I like what to everyone?

 

**To:** Tom

Incredibly kind and such. Is that normal?

 

**From:** Tom

I try to be. 

Beautiful, talented, intelligent,  _and_ he's a saint? Is this guy even  _human_?

**To:** Tom

That's amazing.

 

 


	6. Of All the People You Could've Ran Into

Late for the tube, you have to walk to work this morning. It's quite a walk - long story short, you're not very happy at the moment. Muttering to yourself, you look down at your phone, typing out a message to tell your boss that you'll be late. As you do so, someone heading in the opposite direction. You stop, ready to tell this person off, but you hear a very familiar voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, didn't see you there.. are you all right?"

**TOM.** _Oh_. _My. GODS._  Inside your mind, you're screaming and flailing and hopping up and down, but outside you just look up and give him a giant smile. "I'm fine, thanks. Excuse me."

Without another word, you walk away so you don't embarrass yourself. When you get to the bookshop, you go to the back and let yourself freak out, squealing and babbling incoherently. Your boss opens the door, summoned by the racket you're making, and asks you what the hell is going on. "Are you having a fit or something?"

" YES I AM HAVING A FIT, I JUST RAN INTO TOM HIDDLESTON!" you exclaim. Taking a couple of breaths to calm down, you continue. "I was walking here, right? And I was sending you that text saying I was gonna be late.. and... bloody hell, I ran into him!"

Your boss gives you a strange look and nods slowly, shutting the door. She probably thinks you're mad, but you don't care at the moment. After your fangirling is done, you're in an excellent mood. You don't even mind when an old man barks at you for counting his change wrong. You're too busy happily replaying what happened on your way here. You're pretty sure Tom didn't know that it was you he'd bumped into. What if he did? You panic for a moment, turning to the nearest reflective surface to make sure you didn't look too terrible. Then you realize that he couldn't, because he has no idea what you look like - you've only spoken through text messages. Why didn't you say something? You decide to do so; but if you're going to tell him, you tell yourself, you are going to have a little fun with it.

 

**To:  Tom**

Guess who I bumped into today?

 

**From: Tom**

No idea, dear. Who?

 

You giggle. You actually giggle. 

 

**To:  Tom**  

I'm not telling you, you have to guess!

 

**From: Tom**

All right, then.. can I at least have a clue?

You take a moment to come up with one that woudn't be a dead giveaway, which proved to be difficult.  You can't even tell him where it happened, could you? You'd mentioned where you lived before, and he knew you worked at Blackwell's.... You settled on when, and added that it was someone you wouldn't normally see around as an afterthought.

**From: Tom**

I still have no idea, love. Can't you just tell me?

 

**To:  Tom**  

Giving up without even a guess? I thought you'd get it for sure, since you were there...

 

**From: Tom**

What?

 

\--

 

You briefly explain this morning's collision to him.

 

**From:  Tom**

Still having trouble remembering - I've run into a number of people today, love.

_Go figure._ You start rattling off everything you can recall; the street, the time, the building it happened in front of, what you were wearing... anything you thought would help. There's a bit of a delay, like maybe he had to think on it for a moment.

 

**From:  Tom**

That was you?

 

**To:  Tom**

Yes, that was me, not paying attention to where I was walking.. **  
**

**From:  Tom**

Don't worry about it, I was quite distracted myself, to be honest.

Wait.... wait wait wait. Distracted like how? You panic for a moment, but then tell yourself to get it together. It could be one of thousands of not-you-related things. It's almost time to go off your break, anyway. You shake the thought out of your head.

Well, as first impressions go, you decide that you didn't really do that horribly. It could have been a lot worse. You could have fallen flat on your face or something equally mortifying. You didn't have a total spaz attack in front of him, either. You're actually a little proud of yourself for that. 

 


	7. Sick Day

Aching throat, throbbing head, coughing fits that've woken you up every hour or so... and to think this started as the sniffles two days ago! You roll over, pawing for your phone on the nightstand, telling yourself that there is _no bleeding way_ that you are hauling yourself to work today. You call your boss. She hears your horrible ill-voice and instantly agrees with you.

"You stay home. Don't want you bringing that around here," she says. "I'll have someone come in for you. Rest. Have some tea."

"You sound like my mum," you croak before hanging up. Wrapping yourself in the duvet from your bed and clutching your phone, you shuffle off to the kitchen to put the kettle on. After that is accomplished, you plop down on the sofa and try to find something decent on the telly. Rory leaps up there with you and settles down beside you, purring loudly.

"Drama queen," you tease him, scratching behind his ears, "you act like no one's petted you in ages."

As usual, there's nothing on, so you go for the Doctor Who reruns you have packed into the DVR. "What do you think, Rory? Nine? Ten? Eleven? I think we even have some Classic Who, but that'll mean getting up and finding the DVDs," you ask the cat stuffily as you fumble with the remote. "Ooh, I know - Let's Kill Hitler."

You start it, forgetting that you had the kettle on until it starts shrieking, scaring you half out of your skin. Cursing, you take Rory off your lap and get up to take it off the stove, still wrapped in your blanket cocoon. You fix your tea - "Honey and lemon for sore throats," you hear your mum say in the back of your mind - and carefully carry it back to the sofa.

 You're just getting into the episode, nodding off a bit, even, when your mobile goes off loudly. You let off another string of curses at the noise, tearing off te duvet to search for it. When you finally get it, you look at the number.

**(XXX) XXX-XXXX**

 "Who the hell is this?" You ask yourself. Probably someone selling something. You press  **Answer**.

"Hello, is this-?"

"All right, you can cut the formalities, because I don't wanna buy a fucking timeshare or whatever you're peddling, so if you'd kindly bugger right off a cliff and let me get back to my tea," you rant, trailing off when your voice gets rough...

 Then, right before you planned to triumphantly hang up on the interrupting bastard who called during Doctor Who, the man on the other side laughs.

_I know that laugh..._

"Catch you at a bad time?"

"Tom?!" you ask disbelievingly. You then launch into a lengthy, broken apology. "I'm so, _so sorry,_ I'm not feeling well so I'm a bit on the irritable side... unfamiliar number... watching Doctor Who..." You cough. "Sorry. What're you calling for? And from a different number?"

More laughing from his end. _Well, I'm glad someone's getting a laugh out of this._ "I've changed my number, wanted to let you know. Don't worry about it, getting snapped at isn't going to hurt me any. Though it sounds like it's hurting you, do you want me to let you go?"

"No!" you yelp. "I mean, no, I can talk, really." You take a sip of your tea, which helps your voice sound less like a strangled toad. "You could have just texted the new number to me, you know."

"I could have," Tom repeats. "But I was curious. I wanted to hear what your voice was like."

You half-laugh, half-cough. "Well, right now it sounds like I've been gargling nails. I don't normally sound like this, I promise."

 "You're okay, darling, it's honestly not as horrid as you think," Tom tells you.

"Sure it's not." You look back up at the telly. "Damn it, I've missed the ending. Well, since my Doctor Who is now Doctor Don't Bother, I guess you'll have to entertain me," you jest.

"You think so?" he asks.

"Hey, you're the one who interrupted in the first place."


	8. I Swear to Drunk, I'm not God

Saturday night again, and the only date you've got is with Tumblr. You've accepted that this was going to be another boring weekend, but then...

**From: Tom**

WHy are worrms cosidered cowaRDS?

**To: Tom**

Tom, are you drunk?

**From: Tom**

CAUse theyre sppineless.

**From: Tom**

SPINELESSS. Getit?

You laugh and shake your head. Everyone acts different when the've got a couple drinks in them, but _puns?_

**To: Tom**

You're drunk.

**From: Tom**

Maaaybe a little. Jus a bit.

**To: Tom**

How many have you had?

**From: Tom**

iDunno, some.   
Hey, iss a bOok on voyurism a peeeping tomE?

**From: Tom**

PEEEPIng. TOme.

**From: Tom**

Lik ea BOok.

You snort. These are terrible.

**To: Tom**

Yes, I get it. Please tell me you have a way home.

**From: Tom**

I do. Do meafavour. DONt be an ARcheologist. THeir careers LIe inn RUIns.

**To: Tom**

Oh my gods.

You laugh, picturing him giggling into his mobile while he types these. They aren't even that good, yet you're cackling away... I mean, ruins?

**From: Tom**

RUINNNS!

**To: Tom**

Yes, ruins. I got it.

You roll your eyes, even though you're the only one who can see. "He's trashed..."

**From: Tom**

BeaVErs re selllfish. THEy DONt givve a DAM.

**To: Tom**

I think you've had enough.

Several bad puns later, the texts cease. He must have found his way home and passed out or something. About one in the afternoon the next day, he calls you up. "I've just looked back at my texts," he says. "I am _so sorry_ you had to endure all of that."

You giggle. "It's all right. It was entertaining. How are you this morning? You sound out of it."

"Terrible. I think it's safe to say I overdid it," he replies.

You smile into your mobile. "Hey, Tom, why is it bad to gossip around peppers?"

"Oh, God, please no..."

"They get _jalapeño_ business!" you finish, and then burst out laughing.

"You're terrible." He stifles a laugh, trying to be cross with you.

"Revenge!" you cry out. "I have loads of these. Bit of advice; don't make a gymnast angry. They _flip out."_

"What have I done..."

"Have you ever watched a documentary on optical surgery? It's quite _eye opening."_

Tom groans. "Okay, I said I was sorry, cut it out, these are atrocious."

"Oh, I would gladly cut it out," you reply between fits of laughter at his expense, "but alas, _I have no scissors...."_


	9. Making & Breaking Plans

"So, I was thinking..." Tom tells you on the phone one morning.

"Dangerous business, that," you comment, poking fun at him a bit. He takes it well, laughing a little before coninuing his train of thought.

"...I've been thinking, I have a stretch of down-time coming up, and I'd like to see you."

You inhale sharply, making a sound between a gasp and a squeak. Like a mouse being stepped on, you think. "You _have_ seen me, though. We ran into each other that one morning."

"No, I don't mean see you as in physically _see_ you," Tom explains, "although that would be nice, I mean I want to actually spend a bit of time with you while I have the time and the opportunity. Get to know the girl who lives on the other side of my mobile. I think you know what I'm saying - don't you?"

You're quiet for a moment, as you're not sure that you do. Tom - Tom _Hiddleston,_ the single closest thing to perfection in a human being that this world has had the privalege of knowing - wants to get together with you, plain old ordinary nothing-special you...

"Are you still there, darling?" he asks, sounding a bit concerned.

"Yeah, I'm here, I'm just thinking," you reply. "Probably overthinking. Sure, I'd love to do something. How's Friday sound?"

\----

Thursday - you're at work, about to close up, so you figure it's all right to take a call.

 "I can't do tomorrow."

You lean against the counter, wedging your mobile between your ear and your shoulder as you count the cash from the register. "What?"

"I can't do tomorrow," Tom repeats, "something's come up. I'm truly sorry, I was actually looking forward -"

"No, it's fine," you interject., "I understand. You're a busy guy, it's really not a big deal."

You say that, but it does sort of hurt. You were just actually starting to accept that he actually wanted to see you, to let yourself believe that _Tom Hiddleston_ wanted to meet _you..._ and now this. It just sort of confirms your thought that someone as prominent as him doesn't have time for doing normal things with normal people. You shouldn't feel like this, you know it's a little selfish, but you'd gotten your hopes up..

He apologizes a few more times and tries to explain, there's nothing he can do, obligations, obligations... but you aren't really listening. You tell him not to worry about it. It's okay.

You try not to let it bother you as you close up and ride the tube home, but it still nags at you. When you actually get to your flat you can't bear to do much but sit on the sofa and try not to think about it, though eventually you do. Why did you think that it'd actually go as planned? That'd be too easy. You feel terrible. You feel terrible for feeling terrible. He's famous - it's not like he can turn it off...

\----

 Friday comes. You weren't originally scheduled to work, but Talia was ill and _it's not like you've got plans..._ While you're there, Tom texts you and tells you to turn on your radio.

**To:  Tom**

What for?

**From:  Tom**

Just do it, okay?

Shaking your head, you flip on the radio on the counter. You're sure no one in the shop will mind. You're closing. It's just you, the manager, and one or two other employees. It tunes in just as an advert is ending, and the host's voice returns. "And we're back, today we've got Tom Hiddleston in with us; and before we went to break we were talking about all you've been up to recently - been busy, haven't you? Do you ever have downtime anymore?"

You bend over the counter, resting your chin in your hands and wondering why he was so keen on you hearing the interview he cancelled on you for.

 His voice comes through the speakers. "A very small amount, but I do get some. I was actually supposed to be free today, had plans and everything - sorry about that, since I know the person I cancelled on is listening; or at least I hope they are, because if not that was a bit weird of me to do..."

Even though you know that nobody knows he's referring to you, you go an awful shade of red. You're so irrationally embarrassed that you can't listen to any more of the interview, so you turn off the radio and race to the back to get your things so you can get out of here and go home, crawl into bed and just die.

Later, he rings you and asks if you heard it. "Of course I heard it," you reply, "And I accept your apology, but honestly, did you have to _literally_ broadcast it to the world?"


	10. An IOU

"-but honestly, did you have to literally broadcast it to the whole world?" you ask, settling down in the armchair in your sitting room. You shift the phone to your other ear.

"No, but I was feeling particularly awful about blowing you off at the moment, and I had the perfect opportunity," Tom explains.

"I suppose that makes sense. You didn't blow me off though, you had to be somewhere else, and I believe you've apologized before then. I'm not complaining, of course, but hearing you quite publicly say something that I know is directed at me? I dunno, it was just a little..." you can't think of the right word.

"Odd?" he contributes. "I guess it was. To be honest, though, our whole friendship is a bit unorthodox. I mean, it has developed entirely through text messages and phone calls, save for one face-to-face encounter after I almost trampled you that I'm not sure even counts -" 

"-of course it does," you interject, shifting in your chair and bringing your legs up onto the seat with you, "at least I count it. However, that may be because you're, you know, you. I mean, it's not like I just run into famous people on the street on a daily basis. I still sometimes have moments where I'm like, 'Holy hell, I'm on a first-name basis with Tom Hiddleston! How did this happen?' And it's so weird, I didn't even think you'd respond to that first text, and now, what, five or six months later... I'm babbling. You can tell me to stop when I do this, you know.''

He laughs. "I don't mind, really. It's nice, listening to you go on about things."

"Oh, stop that," you protest, "I'm amazed I stayed on one subject, most of the time I make no sense when I get going."

"All part of your charm, love."

You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being ridiculous. Where is all this flattery coming form? I've already forgiven you, though you do owe me now."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ONE MEW VOICEMAIL MESSAGE

"Hey, you, where you been? Did you die? I haven't heard from you in ages! Gimme a ring, we'll grab some coffee or something and catch up!"

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Talia..." 

You see her almost every time you work, but she's right; you haven't spoken - really talked, not just "Hey" or "Do we have more of this title in the stockroom?" - in what seems like forever.With your coursework and spending more time talking to Tom than usual, she sort of just dropped off your list of priorities. How long has it been? Two, maybe three weeks? Feeling like a bad friend, you phone her. She's chuffed to hear from you, but still takes the piss out on you for leaving her out in the cold. After many more apologies than you usually would offer (Tom must be rubbing off on you) Talia forgives you and suggests you go out for that coffee; although you have already had yours this morning and are currently working on your second, you agree. After all, you do owe her.

An hour later, you're nursing a double espresso and listening to a full retelling of everything that happened in the weeks where the two of you weren't in touch.

"-and then I locked the keys in my bloody car, and had to wait an hour for help! Hm, what else, what else... Ooh! I think I may have met someone."

You raise an eyebrow, looking at her over your cup. "You think?"

She answers with a shrug. "I'm not sure what I wanna do about it just yet. Anyways, you know Will?"

"Record store Will?" You knew all about her crush on the tall, quiet cashier at your favourite music shop.

"Yeah, him! Well anyways, I went in there to pick up something for my brother - his birthday was, like. the next day and I didn't have anything for a gift yet, so I figured I'd grab an album from one of those shitty screamo bands he's so into. Bloody kid. Was our musical taste that horrid when we were teenagers, or is that a new development?" she asks with a disgusted look.

"Well there was the emo phase..." you remind her. She pretends to gag.

"Ugh. Don't even mention that. Anyways, I found something sufficiently horrid, and went up to pay, and when I handed it over he just kind of looked at it then up at me, like, 'What?' And I told him I was buying it for my brain-dead younger sibling. Then he smiled, and God in Heaven, I now know why he never does - his smile could wipe out a small country, it's so gorgeous! And he said that he understood my problem, his sister is a Beiber fan. We started talking, about music mostly, and it was close to close so he told me to stay and chat while he finished up. He gave me his number, and we talk a lot now," she paused to take a drink.

"Sounds great, why aren't you sure, then?" you ask.

"That's just it," she replies, "it's so great, he's so fantastic, and I'm just.. me. I'm boring. I work in a bookshop and study Social Science. He's all cool and he plays guitar and... I sound mad, don't I?"

You shake your head. You know how that feels all too well. You think the same thing about your friendship with Tom. "No, you aren't mad at all. Just remember, though, if he thought you were as boring as you think you are, he would have just done his job without as much as a 'Have a nice day' like he does with everyone else."

"You really think so?" she asks, eyes hopeful. You nod. 

"Fantastic. You see? You can't just vanish like that, I need you for situations like this!" she jokes. "So enough about me, what about you? How's the cat?"

"Fine, both of us are doing well, as always. Nothing to report." You're not sure how much you should say.

"Do you still talk to him?" she inquires, just like you want her not to.

"Well..."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Tom

If you'd like to collect on that IOU, you can find me at Piccadilly Circus in ten minutes.


	11. Come Find Me

__

Ten minutes? You know you can make it in that time, but why the short notice? Oh, well. You decide not to question it – it’s not every day that Tom Hiddleston wants to meet with you.  You walk from the Café Boheme – you’d went there to grab a bite after work – to Piccadilly, which as usual is packed to the gills with people.

“You just had to choose this tourist trap, didn’t you?” you ask aloud, although Tom is nowhere near you. “And at the busiest time…”

**To: Tom**

All right, I’m here. Where are you?

**From: Tom**

Oh, no, dear. I believe I said that you could find me.

 

_Find_ him? In this crowd?

**To: Tom**

You can’t be serious. There are hundreds of people here!

**From: Tom**

I’m completely serious. You’re a smart girl, you can do it.

 

You pocket your mobile and shake your head. He’s mental! Starting with the obvious places, like the fountain, you search through the crowds for Tom. Two or three times you think you’ve found him, only to get closer and see that it’s only someone who is the same height or has similar hair. You’re getting more and more frustrated, and after fifteen minutes of trying and failing to find Tom, you decide to ring him and admit defeat.

You press **CALL** , and just as it starts ringing you hear a phone go of not far from you. Probably coincidence, you think, but you look around to locate the source out of curiosity as you wait for Tom to pick up. When he answers, the ringing from nearby ceases, which makes you think maybe it wasn’t as coincidental as you thought. You head in that direction.

“Calling to give up, love?” you hear him ask, both in the phone and somewhere ahead. He’s definitely close.

“No, calling for a favour,” you reply. “Could you turn around, please?"

“All right, but I don’t –“

You watch him turn and see you, the surprise on his face making you smile.

“Got you,” you say into the phone, even though he’s within earshot.

He grins and starts toward you, not bothering to hang up either. “That you did. I knew you would.”

Like always, you go a bit pink when he compliments you. “Oh, stop. I kind of cheated, using my mobile. I wasn’t even trying to, either; I was calling to tell you I couldn’t find you, but then I heard your mobile go off so I followed the sound.”

“That isn’t cheating, darling, that’s strategy,” he replies.

“Yeah, accidental strategy.”

You both laugh, and then there’s a moment where you both are standing there, still awkwardly holding your mobiles. “I suppose we can hang up now,” you suggest.

“Right,” he agrees, nodding as he disconnects. You do the same, shoving your phone in your bag as he pockets his.

“You’re taller than I remember,” you admit.

He smiles again. You wonder, is it normal to feel short of breath when he does that? “I’m afraid my memory doesn’t exactly do you justice either,” he replies.

 “I bet you say that to all the girls,” you tease.

“Actually, you’d be surprised how little I say that.” Tom offers an arm to you. “Shall we?”

You take it.


	12. Up in the Air

“So, what are we doing today?” you ask, looking at Tom as you walk away from the crowds at the Circus.

He shrugs. “No idea.”

“You don’t have a plan?”

Tom laughs. “Not at all,” he concedes.

“Oh, well. We don’t need one. We can just walk for a while, talk a bit, and see where we end up,” you suggest.

He nods in agreement as you come to an opportunity to turn. “Sounds like a brilliant idea. Go ahead, choose a road.”

You think about it for a moment, and then lead him down Haymarket. “So, why the sudden desire to meet?” you inquire.

“It’s not that complicated, really. I was free, and from earlier conversations knew you were as well, so I figured, ‘Why not?’” he explained, a smile creeping onto his face again. “Besides, I _did_ owe you.”

“That you did,” you confirm, laughing a little. The fact that someone with hundreds of things they could and probably _should_ be doing would choose to spend his afternoon with you is very flattering. The two of you continue down Haymarket and on to Cockspur, towards Charing Cross. You talk the whole way; you tell him about Talia and Record Store Will, and he tells you about places he’s been recently.

“I wish I could travel more,” you say, “but with work and my courses, I’m sort of stuck.”

“You’ve got your whole life, darling, I’m sure you’ll find time to get out and see the world,” he assures you as you make your way down Northumberland.

“Maybe I’ll just stow away next time you take off,” you reply. “You know, hide in your luggage.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Feel free to try, but I think you’d be much more comfortable if you accompanied me _outside_ of the suitcase.”

You continue across the Thames, still with no destination in mind. “We could go to the Aquarium, or…” You pause, thinking for a moment.

“How about the Eye?” Tom suggests.

“I haven’t been on the Eye in ages,” you answer. In fact, the last time you went was with Talia on your eighteenth birthday, and it was foggy and raining, so you could hardly see across the river.

“The Eye it is.”

The wait is substantial, but shorter than you’d usually expect, possibly due to the fact that you’re in very well-known company. You keep each other entertained, talking and such while you stand in the queue.  A few people recognize Tom and come over to say hello or get an autograph or a picture, which doesn’t bother you. After all, if you’d seen him on the street before all this, you would have been the same way. You’re still a fangirl, just a very privileged one. Plus, it makes you happy to see how sweet he is with them.

When you finally get in and get going, you notice Tom getting a little fidgety. You ask if everything’s all right, and he tells you it is, so you put it out of your mind and focus on the view. It’s spectacular – you can see everything! 

“Tom, you’ve got to see this, it’s wonderful!” You turn towards the back of the little compartment, where he’s standing and looking distressed.

“No, I’m…” He glances out the windows and shakes his head. “You go ahead. I’m fine here.”

You’re not that thick; you know he’s not fine there. “Tom, are you afraid of heights?”

“Er…”

“You are, aren’t you?” you ask again. You don’t use the mocking tone that he probably expected – you _do_ tend to poke fun at him, but you weren’t about to tease him for having a legitimate and very common fear. Instead, your voice holds a bit of concern. You join him in the back. “It’s perfectly fine. Everyone’s got that one thing they’re scared to death of. For me, it’s spiders and swimming in the ocean.”

He smiles. Progress! If you keep his mind off of the altitude, you realize, he won’t be as afraid. You take his hand. “Here. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

He gives you a skeptical look. “What are you going to do?”

“Just do it. You trust me, don’t you?”

With some reluctance, he nods, and you take his other hand and lead him a few steps forward. As instructed, he keeps his gaze fixed on you.

“You see? If you’re properly distracted, you do just fine. Look.”

He does, and discovers that you’ve led him right up to the glass. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, just to remind him that you’re there and he’s not going to plummet to his death.

“Amazing.”

You nod, focusing back on the view. “It is, isn’t it?”

He grins. “No, not the view,” he corrects.

Cue the blushing. “Oh.”

“The view is nice, too, though.”

 


	13. The End is also the Beginning

Tom had to leave for America three days after your trip to the Eye, and between that and finals approaching, you haven’t spoken. The lack of communication has really given you some time to think about this whole thing. What exactly is the nature of your relationship? The two of you are friends, of course – he’s told you that much himself many times – but something about how you acted around one another struck you as odd. If you didn’t know better, you would draw the conclusion that he was…

No. Do not let yourself think that he could be interested in you. He’s _Tom Hiddleston,_ for fuck’s sake. There is no conceivable way that he is romantically interested in you. Friends? Sure. You could believe that, but nothing more. He could have any woman he wanted, there’s no way he’d waste his time on a twenty three-year-old fan who works in a bookshop to pay off her loans and whose two best friends are her childhood neighbor and her hairless, three-legged cat.

Maybe you’re overthinking the whole thing. The problem is you can’t _stop_ thinking about it. You keep replaying that day in your head, searching for who knows what. Something he said, or that you said. A gesture, a look. _Anything._

There was the moment when you finally got him to look out at the city, when he said ‘Amazing’ but wasn’t talking about the view; but that could have just been flattery. He’s a flatterer. Then again, he didn’t let go of your hand when he very well could have. He didn’t _have_ to walk arm-in-arm with you for the whole twenty minute walk to the Eye, either.

Just what exactly is he playing at, anyway?

You do your best to push it out of your head, immersing yourself in your studies. Finals are a lot more important that a questinable relationship. It's at night, after work and class are done and you actually have time for thoughts of your own, when your mind wanders. If, and it's a big, _big_ if, he was interested, would you be able to handle being with someone constantly in the public eye? You would become a novelty. Your privacy would be slim to none. You can hardly stand giving presentations for your uni courses!

Despite the unwanted attention, you have to admit it would be a dream made real, being with Tom. And he _does_ seem to care quite a lot about you...

***

The next time you work with Talia, you confide in her while you stock the nonfiction section. She's usually a good person to seek advice from, and she is vaguely familiar with the situation.

"Tali, I need help," you tell her. "So I have this friend, and I've known this friend for about six months now but we haven't actually spent much time together... I mean, we text and talk to each other on the phone all the time but I'm busy and he's busy and he travels. All. The. Time. We met up recently, spent the day together, and it was wonderful - we walked over and went up on the Eye, it was great - but it was so _weird._ It wasn't weird in the negative sense, but it was awkward, and it made me think what if...? We haven't had an opportunity to talk since then and I can't stop _thinking_ about it, about him and wondering if there's something there..."

You lean against the shelves with a sigh, relieved after venting it all out.

"Well, you're obviously interested. Do you know if he is?" she asks, taking the stack of books you'd been holding so she can shelf them.

"No. I mean, I suppose he _could_ be, but... I don't know." you reply. "I doubt it."

"What do you doubt it for?" she inquires.

_Because he's a bloody celebrity,_ you're tempted to say. "He's _extremely_ out of my league."

"Don't even." Talia sets down the books and folds her arms over her chest. "You're a catch - clever, kind, pretty... no! Shut up!" You'd tried to protest, but she won't have it. "You are. I don't care who this bloke of yours is, he'd be lucky to have you. I doubt he's _that_ far out of your league, it's not like he's famous or something."

You smile to yourself. "Right." If she only knew. “What am I supposed to do, though? Say something? Would that be too forward? Should I wait for him to bring it up first? I’m so confused.”

Talia laughs. “First of all, you gotta calm down, luv. You’re panicking.”

“I’m not panicking,” you deny, “I’m just… okay, yeah, I’m panicking.”

  
***

You push any thoughts pertaining to your confusing relationship with Tom out of the way until after finals, and actually manage to do well on them. Tom comes back to London for a stretch, and everything seems to be going swimmingly; but there are still those things that make you wonder. The calls get longer, you’re seeing a lot more of each other – if you didn’t know better, then you would think that he was taken with you. But that couldn’t be right, could it?

Of course not, you tell yourself. Look at him. He could have any woman in the world, and he certainly deserves better than a nobody who is eleven years younger than him with a low paying job, tons of student fees, and a dumpy little flat in the West End. You always figured he would end up with a well of, sophisticated woman closer to his age; someone more like him.

You come to the conclusion that the best thing to do here is to end all this now, before the feelings you’re beginning to have become serious. Just tell him everything that’s been on your mind, apologize, and get the hell out before you get your heart crushed. You call him and ask him to meet you at Leicester Square.

***

“We need to have a talk,” you tell him when he arrives, sliding over on the bench so he can sit with you, “or, rather, I have something to say.”

“Is everything all right?” he asks, settling down beside you. He’s worried. That’s his concerned face.

“Yes. Well, mostly. I just have some things on my mind that need to get out in the open,” you explain. You draw in a deep breath, mustering the confidence to keep talking. _Come on,_ you coax yourself, _you planned the whole little speech out in your head, just go on and say it._

“I’m not sure if I can do this anymore,” you begin, looking down at your hands to avoid eye contact. “I love being your friend, I really do; but the more I talk to you, especially since we started actually seeing each other on a semi-regular basis, the more I think about being, well, more. Than friends.”

You pause, and he tries to say something; but if he interjects now, you don’t know if you’ll be able to finish saying your piece, so you stop him. “Please, let me finish.  Now, I know it’s silly, but I can’t really help how I feel; and since there is no conceivable way that this-“ You point to him and then yourself to clarify. “-could ever happen, I think it may be best to just stop. I’m sorry.”

He looks confused. Maybe even a little hurt; but you have never been good at reading people. He’s quiet for a long time, taking in your words and carefully choosing his own before responding. “You really think,” he says with a hint of a smile, “that you can get rid of me that easily?”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What?”

He laughs a little. “I think that you have had entirely too much time to think about this. Personally, I don’t see why this couldn’t work out,” he replies, mimicking your pointing gesture. “It’d be difficult, but by no means impossible.”

You’re hearing this correctly, right? You look up at him skeptically, not entirely sure if he’s serious. “You think so?"

He takes your hand from your lap, holding on to it. “I know so, love. You aren’t the only one who has been thinking about things.”

No way. No. Fucking. Way. “Why, though? I’m not much of anything.”

“Why?” he repeats, like he wasn’t sure what you said, “you’re one of the rare ones; besides being stunning, intelligent, and easy to talk to, you treat me like a human being, and you don’t mind terribly if I call at odd hours-“

“-or make bad puns when you’ve had one too many-“

“-yes, or embarrass you on the radio-“

“-and apologize too much-“

“-okay, okay.” You both laugh; and in the half-moment after you regain your composure, Tom reaches over to move a bit of your hair off your face. You aren’t sure if it’s the close proximity, the moment, or some kind of stars-aligning fate thing, but everything in you is telling you to take the opportunity to lean in and…

…and then you’re kissing him, and it trumps every other kiss you’ve ever had in your life, ever. Even though it’s brief, it leaves you buzzing. You see stars.

“So,” you say afterwards, “are you regretting it?”

Recognizing the question from your very first conversation, he grins and shakes his head. “Not even a little.”


	14. Author's Note//Huge Thank You

Oh my god. I can't tell you how bizzarre it feels coming back to this, but I have to come and say thank you for the continuing support my little story has been getting over the years. It's been so long that I sometimes forget that this story is still out in the universe!

Unfortunately, I don't think there's gonna be more of this story - I know, I know, but the thing is, I wrote this so long ago... I feel like adding to it now would be like if they tried to remake Labyrinth today. It'd seem cheap and dry and not as good as the original. Plus, I'm fond of the open-ended conclusion. Anything can happen at this point!

I do plan to post a new work here - I've had an idea rattling around, but it's just a matter of getting time to put it into words. 

 

But THANK YOU ALL for all the support, all the comments - they never fail to make me smile. I wish I could thank you all personally!

Much Love,

DIF


End file.
